


In Contempt

by Caprichoso



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Jury Duty AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprichoso/pseuds/Caprichoso
Summary: Come hell or high water, Leorio *will* be weaseling his way out of jury duty— which would be much easier if the universe and this bossy little twink next to him weren't conspiring to thwart him at every turn. Featuring jury selection shenanigans, table flipping, and Leorio eating at least one (1) cigarette.





	1. Civic Duty, Kiss My Civic Booty

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is: my contribution to the Hunter X Hunter Big Bang 2019!
> 
> Content Warnings:  
> Be advised that the following things pop up: transphobia, mentions of violence and familial domestic abuse, sex jokes and references aplenty, general exposure to the less pleasant side of humanity, and Leorio's Filthy Inner Monologue (and often exterior dialogue).
> 
> Without further ado, welcome to the dumpster fire that is this fic!

Yorknew Superior Court: twenty-two stories of courtrooms, holding cells, and offices, all packed with humans who would rather be literally anywhere else. The employees are all just counting down the days until they can retire with that sweet state pension, any hint of pep or hope siphoned out of their husks by years of soul-sucking public service. The inmates are stuck in holding cells somewhere in the bowels of the building, and while not everyone has been intimately acquainted with the interior of a jail, they can all likely agree they would rather not spend too long inside one. Still, if there is one group even less eager to be walking through those big glass doors and metal detectors funneling cattle into the courthouse, it has to be the poor schmucks who've been chosen by some godawful lottery to come and exercise their civic duty at the asscrack of dawn, because apparently no one has heard of starting court at a reasonable hour like ten or eleven.  
  
The only reason Leorio is even here is that the little jury duty summons postcards he's been receiving and tearing up have undergone what one might call a minor change. What was once an innocuous periwinkle with friendly directions to the courthouse has now become an angry stop-sign red with bold black letters threatening him with jail time if he doesn't show up. A spiteful bitch Leorio might well be, but he's not about to get himself thrown in lockup out of spite, largely because it would put a kink in his... well, everything, really.  
  
If he's being honest with himself, this couldn't have come at a better time. His MCATs are over and he's just waiting on the results, plus he's on summer vacation, so for once in the past two years of his university career he's not studying for anything. With no job to speak of, no significant other, and no real responsibilities beyond keeping his and Zepile's crappy little apartment from getting wrecked badly enough to affect their damage deposit, he's pretty much the ideal candidate for sitting in a courtroom and doing nothing for a week or two.  
  
That said, given how many years it took him to wrap his head around his habit of staring at hot guys being both wanting to have their bodies despite his chromosomes _and_  wanting to have their bodies _pressed up on his_ , Leorio doesn't exactly have the best track record with admitting much of anything to himself. Like hell is he going to go gently into that early morning jury duty; not when he can rage against the dying of his plans for a lazy weekday instead.  
  
And so it comes to pass that at seven thirty in the goddamn morning, a groggy, grumpy, unshaven Leorio has just barely stumbled his way through the courthouse doors when he encounters his first grievous miscarriage of justice.  
  
"It is _coffee_ ," he says with an outstanding degree of patience, not quite glaring at the deputy with the shaved head and a nameplate that says _Hanzo_.  
"What it is doesn't matter; you could be hiding something dangerous inside the cup."  
  
Leorio closes his eyes and presses a knuckle in between his eyes, a little reminder to keep his temper in check. "The only danger this coffee poses to anyone is if it burns my tongue. Seriously. It is _roasted bean juice_."  
  
Deputy Hands-Off looks as thoroughly unimpressed with him as he is with the deputy; an achievement, to be sure. "And if you plan to walk through here, it needs to go in that bin."  He gestures over to a plastic trash can with a bright blue liner that contains a slowly-growing graveyard of lighters, glass bottles, and a pair of knitting needles that look deadly as hell and _do not_  belong in any courtroom, as well as a sea of coffee cups just like Leorio's. "There's a cafeteria inside if you need coffee."  
  
He paid too damn much for this (frankly burnt) bean juice; like hell is he going to have it dumped in that trash can like all the rest and then pay even more for an even shittier beverage. "Well, if I'm getting screwed, then bottoms up," he drawls, and tilts his head back to chug his steaming-hot coffee. His mouth is filled with a steady stream of superheated regret, and it's only by sheer pettiness that Leorio doesn't immediately spit it out and scream in agony. As it is, he manages not only to continue chugging even as his mouth and throat send out distress signals, but also to keep his eyes from watering as much as they should. He's a bit dewy-eyed by the end of the cup, sure, but that doesn't count.  
  
Making eye contact just shy of sufficiently aggressive to get him dogpiled by the half-dozen deputies nearby, Leorio silently crushes his now-empty cup in one fist and lets it drop into the bin. If his silence is due to the fact that he's barely restraining a whimper of pain... well, that's not for any of these jerks to know.  
  
Through the metal detector and into the rest of the lobby, Leorio shuffles over to the myriad of monitors hanging over the information desk. One might think that the question that a solid 95% or more of the lost souls milling about here need answered would be posted up in the most conspicuous place on a bright and shiny screen, but instead the screens are filled with a bunch of numbers and letters that probably mean something important to someone, if he's being generous. To him, though, it looks like one of those flight schedules at an airport— useful if you're actually trying to catch one, but right now all Leorio wants is to find the damn bar.  
  
Speaking of which, that'd be a good icebreaker for the blue-haired deputy standing at the counter for the information desk. She's pretty cute, and she looks like she could use a smile about as much as he could.  
  
"Hey," he rasps out, wishing he sounded a bit more suave post-scalding but pressing on regardless, "Out of curiosity, you guys have a bar somewhere around here? Or if not, maybe you could just tell me the way to the jury room?"  
  
The deputy raises one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow, and Leorio is hit with that mixture of fear and arousal that took him a good long time to unpack early in college. "Seriously? 7:30 on a weekday, in Superior Court, and you want to knock back a couple whiskeys before things get started? Sure, let's get trashed! You, me, the judges, let's all get totally blitzed—"  
  
"Menchi," a much calmer voice interrupts, and the freaking _wall_  off to the lady's right turns around, revealing the biggest person Leorio has seen in his life. Not fat so much as... _big_ , in every direction. "I think he was trying to make a joke, but it just wasn't funny at all." He favors Leorio with a smile that belongs on a golden retriever, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he's just burned Leorio worse than the coffee.  
  
Leorio winces, but nods. "Yeah, that part was a joke, but if you could tell me how to find the jury room, I'd appreciate it."  
  
Deputy Menchi (more like _Mean_ -chi, supplies an utterly unhelpful part of Leorio's brain) gets even more pissed off, somehow. "Well, what I'd appreciate is if you could learn to _read_ , and stop wasting my—"  
  
"The jury room is on the 10th floor," her partner cheerfully announces, steamrolling right over her rant. "You can take the elevators up and follow the signs; it should be clearly marked, starting from here." Deputy... Buhara, according to his name plate, gestures just to his right, where sure enough, there's a great big sign that says, "Jury Room: 10th Floor, Rm. 203."  
  
There are very few flavors that can overpower coffee, but it just so happens that humiliation is one of them.  
  
Leorio mumbles out his thanks as best he can, then shuffles to the elevators, noting as he gets in that the 10 button has already been pressed by someone who can, y'know, find conspicuously-placed signs and follow them. It's a mercy, albeit small, that the elevator ride up is uneventful, and he follows the flock down the hall and into the jury room.  
  
And there, once again, the mercy runs out.  
  
"Jury summons card, please," says the diminutive blonde with a scanner and a name tag that says _List_ ; either someone has a sense of humor around here, or this person drew the short straw on names.  
  
"Don't have one," Leorio says, hoping that will be the end of the conversation. The languid eye roll he gets in return suggests it will not.  
  
"Did you get one?"  
  
"No, I just like coming to sit in the jury room because it's so cozy in here," he drawls, gesturing at the rows of budget plastic-backed chairs.  
  
"Oh, good," shoots back the civil servant, "Because if that's the case, then I don't have to send you to the line for the people who didn't read the part of their card that says 'Bring this summons with you.'" The asshole hikes a thumb back to point to the smallish but utterly immobile line leading towards a check-in window.

One of these days, Leorio’s acerbic wit will win him points; until then, he’s pretty much twice as fucked as he would be if he’d just kept his damn mouth shut.  
  
Three years later, or at least what feels like it, Leorio has a juror badge with a barcode and some kind of number on it, and can finally sit down somewhere. Prowling around the room, he finds all the desk spots are taken, as are the few seats with real padding. Just as he's about to resign himself to whatever middle seat doesn't have anyone sitting next to him, he spots it: two chairs that shall be his redemption.  
  
They're not comfy chairs; they have the same plastic back as the rest, but right next to them is a power outlet with one open plug. And Leorio is gonna stick his phone charger in that plug so good. If the government insists on leeching his time away, he's at least gonna leech away some of their sweet, sweet electricity.  
  
Long, powerful, purposeful strides carry him over to his goal, his eyes fixed on the prize. He fumbles in the pocket of his messenger bag, yanks out his charger, and is less than a meter away when a hand sweeps out of nowhere and shoves a laptop plug into the socket that is rightfully Leorio's.  
  
"Hey!" he growls, head snapping over to look at whoever just committed this egregious violation of his human rights, and is met with the best sight he's seen this whole miserable morning.  
  
Blonde hair shimmers more than it has any right to do in this artificial light, and it frames the cutest face Leorio has ever seen. Blue eyes are blown wide, imminently kissable lips parted in surprise. A single ruby earring sways, a lock of hair falls across the stranger's face, and Leorio very nearly reaches out to brush it back right then and there.  
  
This gorgeous person pauses just a heartbeat longer, then shock turns to curious impatience. "Can I help you?" Their voice is soft and smoky, and dammit, no one person should be allowed to check all of Leorio's boxes at once like this.  
  
His previous outrage now utterly inconsequential, Leorio, debonair as he is, decides to let this one slide with some sort of remark that breaks the ice and establishes himself as nice and not at all creepy.  
  
"Oh yeah, no, you can go ahead and put it in me."  



	2. Are You FEMA? Because I'm a Disaster and You Should Take Care of Me

Love and romance, themes equal parts alluring and mystifying, have been the subject of many a written word, and still more spoken. Leorio is by no means immune to the draw of such timeless first words as _heaven must be missing an angel_  or _your bone structure gives my bone structure_ , and never imagined that he might surpass such monolithic statements with one of his own. In one stroke of singular genius, however, he manages to put them all to shame:  
  
"Oh yeah, no, you can go ahead and put it in me."  
  
The stranger blinks, brow furrowing, and takes a step backwards. "I... see."  
  
"Wait! No, not what I meant!" Leorio screeches, flailing wildly as his brain starts coming back from its hard reboot. "I mean my hole! It's okay for you to stick it in my— fuck, not better." He holds up one finger on his right hand, his left a clenched fist resting against his forehead. "Please just give me three seconds to put the right words in the right order?"  
  
Despite their obvious discomfort, the stranger nods, still wary but at least curious to see what idiocy falls off of Leorio's tongue next.  
  
A deep breath, and Leorio is ready... he hopes. "What I _meant_  to say," he begins, slow and measured, "Is that I'm okay with you using my outlet. My power outlet." He waves a hand at the laptop charger to illustrate his point, forcing a smile even though his animal brain is screaming for him to hide under one of the chairs in shame.  
  
Much to Leorio's relief, the suspicion disappears from this beautiful person's face. Unfortunately for him, it morphs seamlessly into annoyance, which only serves to make Leorio's heart pound even harder for more than just normal-people reasons. " _Your_  outlet?"  
  
Of all the electives Leorio wishes he had been offered in college, in this moment he truly wishes there had been one entitled _Speech 303: Having Conversations with Attractively Angry People Without Saying 'Please Step on Me'_. It would really come in handy right about now.  
  
"Yeah, I was gonna..." he trails off, holding up his charger to illustrate. The fewer words he says, the fewer chances he has to completely screw the pooch yet again. "But it's okay, you can use it."  
  
The stranger crosses their arms over their chest, the baggy sweatshirt that comes down past their hips rumpling slightly. "Given that I plugged my charger into a free outlet in this _public_  building, I am overwhelmed by your _staggering_  generosity, and have no choice but to accept." With that, they turn on one heel and drop into the chair in a single fluid motion, then proceed to retrieve a laptop from their bag lying on the floor next to the seat.  
  
As fantastic as Leorio can sometimes be at misreading and outright ignoring social cues, someone probably felt the force of that dismissal clear over in Zaban City. Swallowing hard, he shoves his hands in his pockets as deep as they'll go and slinks away in search of another open seat.  
  
Unfortunately for Leorio and his mortally wounded pride, literally every other seat in the room is either occupied by a butt, a bag, a jacket, or some other placeholder; he makes the rounds twice, just to be sure. As he's about to start his third pass out of desperation, he glances down at the seat next to Short Hot and Pissy, sighs, and flops down, folding his arms and splaying his legs out in front of him.  
  
It's the only open seat. That's all. Leorio's not a masochist coming back for more punishment from Blondie here, no matter how hot they are.  
  
Leorio is also a filthy liar when it comes to accepting his own motivations.  
  
"Can I help you?" Leorio looks up to find those enchanting blue eyes fixed on him with the same restrained disgust as one might see from a guest in a Buddhist's home trying desperately not to throw their shoe at a cockroach.  
  
Serendipity has seen fit to give Leorio one more chance to smooth this all over. He can apologize, smile, explain the lack of seating, maybe recover from this huge misunderstanding...  
  
"Oh, y'know, just taking this free seat in this _public building_."  
  
...or he can royally screw himself yet again. That's more on brand, yeah.  
  
The stranger's eyes flash, and they open their mouth to let loose a devastating remark, but they seem to reconsider before narrowing their eyes and hissing, "You are perfectly free to leave here, you know."  
  
"Actually," Leorio snaps, "No, I am really not. There isn't another open seat in this room. Go ahead and check for yourself. And if you were talking about skipping out on jury duty as a whole, that's a negative. I already got the red slip threatening to arrest me if I didn't come, so I'm staying."  
  
Their brow crinkles and _shit_ , this is not the time to think about how adorable that is; he needs all his brain cells on board for this argument. "There's a red version of the summons? How many times have you failed to report?"  
  
"...Didn't your parents ever teach you not to pry into other people's business, or are they this nosy too?" It's not that Leorio's embarrassed about having ignored the letters; quite the opposite. He is, however, not so proud of having forgotten how many have shown up.  
  
For the first time, genuine hurt flickers across those features, and Leorio's already fumbling for an apology when the pain sputters into a roaring red flame behind the stranger's eyes. "Perhaps I was busy learning other things, like basic social etiquette and how to read a summons."  
  
If he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, maybe Leorio will be back home in bed, and this whole morning will have just been a horrible dream. Not likely, but it's worth a shot.  
  
...and no, he's still here, and the hot person is still mad at him. "Look," Leorio tries, hands up in a placating gesture, "I didn't mean to piss you off, but I keep accidentally pushing all the wrong buttons. I'm only here until I can make my excuses and go home, just like you, so can we maybe call a truce until we can get out of here?"  
  
"I have no reason to be excused; do you?"  
  
Leorio blinks, dumbfounded. "Uh, I mean, nobody actually _wants_  to be on a jury, so it's just about making sure you get out of it, y'know?" He forces out a little laugh, which promptly falls to the floor and dies upon seeing his companion's expression.  
  
The mixture of disbelief and disgust is enough to make Leorio shrink back a touch. "You have a chance to ensure that someone receives justice, and you want to give that up? Why?"  
  
"...because I have a life that doesn't involve getting kicks out of judging people?" Well, most of the time; people-watching in sports bars and Wam-Mart is only an occasional hobby, and usually only with a sassy friend like Zepile to bounce the ideas back and forth. "I have things to do, y'know. Getting stuck on a jury, getting paid peanuts, is not my idea of a good time."  
  
"So this is about money," the stranger says, frowning. "One of your most important rights, and you're literally trying to give it up in exchange for money. Is there anything you won't sell? How about your body?"  
  
That one stings; a little too close to some scabs that have yet to become scars.  The Hunter Dee School of Medical Sciences is arguably the best in the world, with a price tag to match, so when Leorio met a wealthy gentleman who was willing to hire him on for his last year of college as a live-in "housekeeper" in exchange for a full-ride scholarship... well, the prospect of not quintupling his already massive student debt was too tempting. He doesn't regret it, no matter how distasteful he found what he did that year, but it hurt— still does— having physical evidence that his dignity does indeed have a price tag.  
  
He's on his feet before he realizes it. The pain loosens his tongue, years of holding his own with schoolyard bullies and gay-bashers and plain old-fashioned brawlers training him to get louder, more belligerent, hiding his wounds under a primitive but effective threat display. "Hell yeah, I'd sell my body if the price was right! I'd get top dollar and use that money to say 'fuck you' anytime I wanted. Money is power, and anyone who says otherwise is either fucking stupid, or rich and trying to keep you down!"  
  
There's a murmur over on the other side of the room; some nosy assholes watching the action, no doubt. Scoffing, the blond crosses their arms, dismissive as they look up through their bangs. "So you are quite literally a whore. What a surprise."  
  
Leorio's blood burns in his veins, the roar of his own circulation loud in his ears. He's spent too long fighting against his own voice whispering that word in his ear late at night; no one gets to call him that, period. "Y'know what? I take back that thing about your parents. I bet they did try to raise you right, and when they saw how much of an insufferable prick you turned out to be, they offed themselves out of shame!"  
  
Before Leorio can even finish the sentence, the blond is on his feet and snarling, the height difference between them doing nothing to abate the murderous energy radiating off of them. "If you _ever_  insult my family again, I will—"  
  
"It's a seizure. He's having a seizure! Is anyone a doctor here? Anyone, please!" The murmurs in the background that Leorio had tuned out grow in volume, punctuated by a slow, wet clicking sound. He snaps his head to the side and spies a man slumped, trembling, head lolling to one side with his eyes half closed.  
  
"Shit," Leorio mutters, already striding over on autopilot. His university's one-credit first aid course had been surprisingly thorough; added to the copy of the online EMT course that Zepile had somehow _acquired_  and given to Leorio, it meant he was definitely at home with these situations. "I'm a med student; we're gonna get him down to the floor first. You two," he points to two random bystanders, "You, number one, get staff to call medical. If they have personnel on shift here, that's gonna be faster than 911. You, number two, I'm gonna lift his torso down to the ground, and I need you to take his feet at the same time."  
  
A quick 1-2-3, and the patient is down on the ground, foamy saliva spilling down his cheek as Leorio rolls him onto his side. Leorio reaches to peel off his jacket before realizing that he only wore a long-sleeved dress shirt today. With a mumbled curse, he lifts the man's head with one hand while he looks around for the closest person with a jacket of some kind... which turns out to be the blonde he was two seconds from punching right in their adorable little nose. "Hey, Blondie! Your sweatshirt."  
  
That face softened by concern and curiosity turns stony, arms folding over their chest.  
  
Leorio rolls his eyes. "Look, you can be mad at me later. Right now, I need to support his head, and I don't have a jacket to roll up and do that." Swallowing his pride, he takes a gentler tone. "So... _please_ , will you let this guy use your sweatshirt while he rides this out?"  
  
A blush spreads across the stranger's cheeks, and they nod before peeling the sweatshirt off, briefly exposing a pale, toned stomach before the T-shirt falls back down to cover it. Under other circumstances, Leorio would be transfixed by that glimpse, but he's got a crisis to handle, so he just holds out his hand as the blonde rolls the sweatshirt and hands it over. Placing it beneath the man's head, Leorio gently lets his hand down to transfer the weight.  
  
"Don't we need to give him something to bite down on?" someone behind him asks.  
  
"Nope, that does way more harm than good," Leorio says, keeping his voice level and calm for his patient. "He's gonna be fine, just needs to ride this out. In fact, the way all of you can help most is by going and sitting back down. He's in good hands, and all having a crowd around him is going to do is stress him out more."  
  
The lookie-loos wander back to their seats, leaving the patient with only Blondie, the guy who helped with his legs, and Leorio kneeling around him as his tremors subside and he groans out a slurred "Not fun." The patient sits up, gives them a rueful smile, and enunciates slowly, carefully, to combat an uncooperative tongue: "Hi, I'm Pokkle, sorry I drooled."  
  
Just like that, they all burst into laughter, all the tension draining away, and now that Leorio's shifted out of Doctor Mode, he can appreciate that despite being a grumpy little fuck, Blondie has a gorgeous laugh. The EMTs arrive in minutes, just as the guy has made it through the standard post-seizure questionnaire, and Leorio is only glad to let them take over after filling them in on the situation.  
  
With all the commotion over, Leorio and his favorite least-favorite person are back to sitting side by side, and Leorio feels about as awkward as the time he was in his first gay bar after starting to present masculine and yelled _I think you're cute and I want your dick to be the first one I suck_  at a hot guy at the top of his lungs just as the earsplitting music cut out. On the bright side, making a total ass of himself had snagged him a boyfriend then; maybe he could at least salvage not being despised from this?  
  
"By—" he squeaks like a teenager, then coughs into a fist. "By the way, my name's Leorio. I've been having a shitty day, but I really didn't mean to be as much of an asshole to you as I was." He holds out his hand, a contrite but hopeful grin on his face. "Truce?"  
  
The blond regards the hand with some skepticism, but after a moment they accept it with a firm shake. "Truce. I'm Kurapika, and while you _have_  been an asshole, I don't think you're an inherently bad person, Leorio."  
  
Leorio's teeth creak ever so slightly at the effort of holding the grin, and he can feel his left eye crinkling at the corner. This little asshole is nothing if not consistent. "I'll take it, sure," he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head. A second later, a laugh bubbles up in his gut, and he's chuckling softly. "Y'know, I don't think I've ever met someone who's as good at pushing all my buttons as you."  
  
That garners him a little smile, albeit fleeting. "You certainly do appeal to my baser nature, too."  
  
Leorio nods and opens his mouth to reply with some remark, maybe about the weather or something stupid but safe, only to stop short, rolling the possible hidden meanings of both of their comments over in his head. Had Leorio accidentally flirted in a kind of smooth way? And more importantly, did Kurapika just flirt back?  
  
With his train of thought fully derailed and in a flaming wreck somewhere off in the countryside, Leorio is fully unprepared when Kurapika says something and waits, obviously expecting an answer. "Uh, sorry, what was that?"  
  
One perfect eyebrow rises. "I was asking how you're planning on getting excused from jury duty, since you seem to be certain you'll find a way."  
  
"Oh! Well, I mean, you just gotta act crazy enough that nobody wants you on their jury, y'know?"  
  
Kurapika looks almost offended, but then shakes his head and gives him a little smile that carries a coating of sickly-sweet venom that matches his tone. "Well, good luck with that, I suppose. Enjoy your contempt of court."  
  
The term rings a bell, but Leorio can't quite put his finger on it. "Yeah, I will," he shoots back, trying for the same tone as Kurapika but failing. "I've got a lot of contempt for court."  
  
The look on Kurapika's face is strange, as though he's unsure whether to laugh or slap his forehead. As he starts to reply, though, the loudspeaker cuts him off.  
  
"Attention, please. Would the following jurors please report to Division 133..."  
  
As the litany of numbers gets rattled off, Leorio sighs as he hears his number called. "Well, they're playing my song. I'd say I'll keep you posted on how it goes, but I don't know if you wanna give me your—" He stops, eyeing Kurapika unplugging his laptop from the outlet that started it all.  
  
In seconds, Kurapika is packed up and brushing past Leorio, sparing him a backwards glance. "Well?  
  
Leorio stumbles, catches himself. "You mean you're... we're...?"  
  
"Yes. I'm certain we're going to have a marvelous time together," Kurapika says, dry as a desert.  
  
Well, shit.


	3. Your Honor, The Juror Would Like to Plead Insanity

Chapter 3

The word juror, as with most legal terms, comes from Latin, and apparently means "one who waits around for fucking ever". Leorio and Kurapika, along with a whole mess of other potential jurors, have made their way to the courtroom they're assigned to, and now, once again, they're just waiting outside. The difference this time, though, is that now there are only a few concrete benches for all their butts, so they're almost all standing around.

 

After what seems like another hour, the door opens, and out steps a tiny bald guy who looks like he's both seasick and expecting the worst news of his life at any second. "Hello, jurors! My name is Arthur Biehn, but please just call me Arthur. In a moment, we'll be calling you in, but first we need to be sure everyone's here. When I call your number..."

 

* * *

 

The courtroom looks, to exactly no one's surprise, like a courtroom. The judge's bench is dead center and high above everything else, some tables and chairs about ten feet in front of that; those are for the lawyers and whoever's on trial, if the few legal dramas Leorio's seen are accurate. On the right, the bench connects to a weird... booth thing, with computer monitors and stacks of files, all manned by the bald guy who brought them in— Mr. Beans or whatever. To the left of the bench there's the witness stand, up on a little platform. In between that and one of the tables for the lawyers, there's a desk with a laptop and some kind of weird thing that looks like a typewriter sitting next to it on a stand. And off farther to the left, up against the wall, is the prison Leorio is planning to break out of as soon as he possibly can— the jury box.

There's a plaque on the wall next to the door labeled _Jury_ : "Jurors please state: area of residence, marital status and children, occupation, occupation of spouse, prior jury experience."

The song and dance starts out and blurs into a long string of boring, punctuated now and then by the jurors having to do something. As a lapsed Catholic, Leorio is pretty well-versed in listening with half an ear and following the crowd for the right response. All the jurors have to raise their hands and say _I do_  at some point, to something Leorio didn't really hear. He’s halfway through crossing himself in between spiels before he realizes that's not a thing you do in court. After that, the judge, a wrinkly old fart with a big beard and, oddly enough, a ponytail sticking up from his mostly-bald head, putters through a speech about how being on a jury is an honor and a responsibility and exciting. Leorio, considerate fellow that he is, is only too willing to let one of these other saps enjoy that exciting and honorable responsibility. Hence, when the judge's spiel turns to the reasons to be excused, he perks right the fuck up.

"If you have a medical procedure such as an operation, or a visit with a specialist, scheduled within the time estimate for this case, that is a valid excuse. That's not a simple visit to your regular doctor or something else you can easily reschedule. If you have a trip where you have already bought the plane tickets, booked hotels, and so on, that's another valid excuse. If you are the sole caretaker for a family member— parent, spouse, child, et cetera, and you can't arrange care for them, that is grounds to be excused. General financial hardship is not an excuse, but if your situation is such that you are literally living paycheck to paycheck and will not be able to pay your rent if you are on this jury and not working, that is valid. If anyone has one of those reasons, please raise your hand, keeping in mind that unless you can provide some kind of documentation for it, I will be much more skeptical about the reason."

Leorio is ready to raise his hand like a teacher's pet, right up until the judge gets to the part about proof. He'd better wait, then... should be easy enough to convince the lawyers they don't want him. The few people who do raise their hands come up to talk with the judge and are excused, the lucky fuckers. After that there's a spiel about what type of case this is, not that it matters to Leorio. When there's another mention of excuses, however, he's all ears.

"Raise your hand if you personally know any staff member or lawyer you see in this room, or if you know any of the following people: Illumi Zoldyck, Killua Zoldyck, Alluka Zoldyck, Gon Freecss, Knuckle Bine, Shoot McMahon."

Again, tempting, but no. There's a blur of formalities, the first fourteen people shuffle into the box, and the judge turns things over to the lawyers to handle questions.

The prosecutor is a tall ( _very_  tall) blonde woman in a dress that seems... unusual for something you'd wear to court. It's much more businesslike than a lolita dress, but the white lace accents on a deep pink dress definitely evoke that aesthetic. The half-length gray blazer she's wearing over the dress has absolutely massive shoulder pads, though, which is an interesting touch. They have to be shoulder pads; there’s no way she could really be that gigantic… right? In any case, she introduces herself with some cutesy name like Cookie, talks a little, then turns it over to her counterpart.

If the prosecutor's aesthetic is "oddly cutesy," then this defense lawyer's would have to be "sleazy queer-coded villain." To start with, his hair is a bottled shade of red that Leorio has heretofore only seen on vodka aunts, girls with daddy issues, and grandmas who tried for Auburn Cherry and ended up at Firetruck Soaked in Red Wine. He's paired that with a three-piece suit that, despite theoretically matching that color description, still manages to clash instead, and the whole mess is so tightly tailored that Leorio swears it must be half spandex. His shoes have toe caps engraved with hands of playing cards, and his practically finger-thin tie is blinding white against a jet black shirt. His voice (and really everything about him) makes Leorio's skin crawl, but he has a bizarre sort of charisma that appeals to parts of Leorio that he'd really rather not delve into all that deeply, thank you very much.

Oddly enough, through all this crap, no one is getting into the specifics of the case yet. They are, though, talking in vague statements and generalities that sort of suggest what it'll be about.

Once they're through the introductions, the judge starts making the jurors introduce themselves with that list of items on the wall, and also whether there's anything keeping them from being impartial as a juror. People shuffle in and out of seats like a game of musical chairs, hoping to be freed by the magic words "thank and excuse." It's boring as hell, even more so than the judge and lawyers' spiels, and Leorio is nodding off until he's got a sudden lapful of... Kurapika, apparently?

"What do you think you're doing?" Kurapika hisses at him, shoving at Leorio's chest and squirming. "Let go!"

Half-asleep, Leorio stares down in confusion at his arms, which have somehow come to rest on Kurapika's hips, bringing them to straddle Leorio face-to-face. It takes a solid second or two for him to process that information, but the instant it hits him, his hands are up in the air, fingers spread. "My bad, my bad! I just nodded off and... sorry."

Kurapika is bright red, eyes wide in shock and anger, and dammit, no one should be allowed to look that good at all times. Even as they stand and straighten themselves out, they're graceful, taking a scant few seconds before continuing past and taking a seat in the chair marked "Alt #2."

With Leorio now fully awake (and unsure whether the situation caused by his instinct to cuddle was the worst thing or the best thing in the universe), he's in a position to hear Kurapika's responses: they live in the same neighborhood as Leorio, they're single (or at least unmarried), are a Ph.D. student, haven't been on a jury. The last question, though, is what really sparks Leorio's interest.

"As for impartiality... my entire family was murdered by a gang. I was the sole survivor. If the case has to do with gangs, I'm not sure I could put that aside. Apart from that, I should be fine."

....well, shit. That's a good reason for the dude (with yet-undetermined pronouns) to want to be on a jury. Hopefully they get what they want, and not only because it keeps Leorio one more seat away from getting stuck on it himself.

Pretty much right after that, though, Leorio's luck runs out, and he's shuffled into the Alternate #2 seat as everyone else scoots up a chair. He's gotta make his speech count if he doesn't wanna get stuck here. Standing up, he clears his throat. "Yo, I live in Pheltaba City, I'm a perpetually single dude who's studying to be a doctor, I'm a jury duty virgin, and I think that's gonna be just about the last time I can say I'm a virgin. And, uh... oh yeah." He straightens up, puffs out his chest, and channels his best rockstar swagger. "You definitely don't want me on your jury because I'm an asshole, and I've got nothing but contempt for this whole damn process." He pauses, wondering if that'll be enough, but he wants to seal the deal. "I'm, uh, racist, sexist, homophobic... I, um, worship the devil, and I'm also a cannibal. So, yeah, you should kick me off now, because I'd much rather be at home jacking off." With that, he flops back into his seat, arms crossed and a smug smile on his face. Totally nailed it; they're bound to let him go now.

Rather than clutching his pearls in horror as Leorio was expecting, though, the judge has entirely lost his senile aura, now seeming equal parts amused and... dangerous? "A cannibalistic devil worshipper, eh? Can't say I've heard that one before. Well, young man, it's funny that you should mention the word contempt. Are you aware of what the term contempt of court means?"

Leorio blinks, wishing he could look behind him to see the expression on Kurapika's face. "I, uh, I've heard it once or twice?"

Judge Nettlebeard smiles, and Leorio feels like a fresh-faced little vanilla twink who just accidentally strolled into a dungeon full of burly leather daddies: he doesn't know what's going on here, but it sure as shit isn't going the way he thought it would, and he'd like to safeword out immediately. "While you are in my courtroom, I have a significant amount of authority over you. I have the power, for example, to find that you have behaved inappropriately and hold you in contempt of court, which means I could put you in jail, where you would find your devil-worshipping abilities severely curtailed. I would also like to remind you that you are also under oath to answer the questions from counsel and myself honestly. Lying under oath is called perjury, and is a rather serious crime. Now, with those two considerations in mind, is there maybe some portion of your statement you want to retract?"

Leorio swallows hard, eyes wide as sweat trickles down his back. "Um," he chokes out, then tries again. "Uh. Yeah, I, um... I don't wanna be here, but I'm not a racist or any of that other stuff I said. And, I mean, I'd appreciate it if you'd forget the part about jacking off too, even though that one's still true."

Chuckling, Judge Nutterbutter shakes his head, and he's straight back to exuding that aura of cheerful old dementia patient. "Even if I do manage to forget something so memorable, I guess you weren't listening when I introduced the court personnel. See this young lady with the machine that looks a bit like a typewriter?" He gestures to a girl who's staring off into space, a steady stream of snot trailing into her mouth, as she types away. "Miss Komugi here is our court reporter, and her job is to take down every word that's said here, no matter how outrageous. It's part of the record now."

Leorio sighs, deflating as he slumps into his seat. "Fuck," he mutters, then looks at the reporter. "Shit, sorry, I— dammit. Um. I'm... gonna shut up now."

"That seems wise," the judge says, smiling like the cafeteria at his nursing home put out his favorite flavor of Jello two days in a row. "You know, I think you're a young man who might truly benefit from serving as a juror. The attorneys are, of course, welcome to ask me to excuse you, but they're both running rather low on challenges. That said, I believe the peremptory challenge is with the People?" He turns to the prosecutor, and Leorio lets out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding .

Ms. Ruffles nods. "The People are willing to accept the jury as currently seated, Your Honor."

"Very well; the peremptory is with the defense."

A dramatic hip cock and smile from Mr. Sleaze Clown, Esquire. "Your Honor, the defense would be _delighted_  to accept the jury as currently seated."

Judge Nobbleberry's smile gets even bigger. "Well, then, we have our jury! For the rest of you, please return to the jury room and..."

As the consolation litany for the fortunate ones drones on, Leorio scrubs both hands over his face, scratching at his stubble. Somehow, he's managed to get himself stuck precisely where he doesn't want to be; literally his only consolation is that he'll at least be spending more time with Kurapika. Maybe he'll at least get to ask about those pronouns.


	4. My, How the Tables Have Flipped

As it turns out, there's one more bright side to this whole mess: the jury selection has gone on for so long that it's time to break for lunch, which means they get an hour and a half to go hunt down food. Leorio is understandably excited by this prospect, given that he's been running on nothing but coffee and the handful of nuts he shoved in his mouth on the way out the door. That said, a search on Yowl shows him nothing within a 2-kilometer radius that isn't marked with at least 3 Jenny signs. Apparently all the restaurants in this strip of downtown Yorknew are reserved for rich asshole lawyers, and peasants like Leorio are relegated to eating in the court cafeteria.    
  
It's a long line, but the kitchen staff is efficient, serving up hot meals that actually smell pretty good. Leorio picks the cheapest thing on the menu, some kind of bean and rice dish, and is at the register when he spots a familiar face.    
  
"Kurapika, hey!" Leorio says, trying to keep his tone casual, "Looks like we're both stuck eating cafeteria... food..." He trails off, staring at the mass of... something... on Kurapika's tray. "Uh, whatcha got there?"    
  
Kurapika shrugs, seemingly unaware that their plate looks like something out of a nightmare. "Rice topped with beans, cheese, spinach, gravy, pineapple, and mandarin oranges."    
  
Leorio blinks and forces himself to turn his reflexive grimace into something a bit more like a smile. "I... see. I don't think I've ever... heard of that combination?"   
  
Another shrug. "It has all the essential nutrients I have access to in this cafeteria." Thankfully Leorio doesn't have to try to come up with a response to that; Kurapika reaches the cashier, pays, and then it's Leorio's turn to fumble for his wallet and pay too much money.    
  
They go shuffling off into the dining area, looking for an open table, but a cursory look doesn't show much of anything. It does, however, get them spotted and waved over by another of their fellow jurors— specifically, the only guy wearing an outfit tackier than the greasy clown's. Seriously, magenta and rhinestones on a blazer, plus a black silk shirt and leopard print tie? Leorio is all for people wearing whatever makes them feel good, but this look is nearly as gut-churning as Kurapika's "food."   
  
It's not like they'll find somewhere else to sit, though, and Kurapika is already heading over to sit down with Sparkles and a dude who looks every bit as dumpy as the guy calling out to them is put together. He looks familiar, and it takes Leorio a couple seconds after sitting to realize this guy's also on the jury, sitting next to his fellow eyesore.    
  
Apparently Sparkles is called Paris something or other, and Pigpen's real name is in the ballpark of Gin or Ging or Chingada. The conversation is pretty boring considering they can't talk about the case, and even if they could, they don't know anything about it yet. It seems to be small talk punctuated by Parrythrust trying to instigate juicier topics, especially regarding the hippie dude he keeps eyefucking; apparently opposites do attract. Leorio honestly manages to zone out, concentrating instead on his lackluster beans and rice and the wobbly-ass table, but he happens to tune back in for a bit of a bombshell.   
  
"Believe me, Pariston," Grunge is saying, "Being your coworker is one of the most painful experiences of my life, and I've given birth without anesthesia."   
  
Parasol doesn't bat an eyelash, so either he already knew about the little tidbit that just sent Leorio's brain into realignment mode, or he's got a hell of a poker face. "I live to make life interesting, dear," he simpers, tossing his hair in a perfectly-practiced motion.   
  
"Sorry," Kurapika says, brow furrowed as they look up from their food for the first time since some mumbled introductions, "Am I understanding correctly that you personally carried and gave birth to the child?"   
  
Goop looks at him and shrugs. "Yup. I don't like leaving things unexplored, so before I transitioned, I got myself knocked up by a stranger out of curiosity. Wanted to see how it went, and I saw. Wasn't for me, so I left. Kid's in good hands with my cousin, though, and I send money."    
  
Leorio, who has up until this moment been poleaxed by the paradigm shift, snaps right back to attention at that last comment, glaring pure murder at Ging. "You worthless piece of _shit_ ," he hisses.   
  
Ging, for his part, raises a filthy eyebrow. "Because I'm trans?"   
  
As Leorio rolls his eyes, a little voice in his head remarks in exasperation, _Oh boy, we're coming out again, aren't we?_  "Me too, you idiot! Who fucking isn't? That's not why you're a piece of shit; you're a piece of shit because you had a kid just for fucking _funsies_  and then you _ditched them_!"   
  
"The kid is well taken care of,” Ging says, leaning forward. "Trust me: I make more money than you ever will, and I send his aunt a _lot_  of it."   
  
"Fuck your money!" Bolting to his feet, Leorio shoves an indignant finger in the asshole's grubby face. He's yelling loud enough that it echoes around the cafeteria, but the point of caring is way the hell back in his rearview mirror. "Statistically, you of all people probably know how much it hurts when your biological family is out there and turned their back on you. I sure as shit do, and like hell am I gonna let you pretend you doing that to him is okay because of the number of zeros on a goddamn check."   
  
Ging smirks. "It's a lot of zeros."   
  
With a primal howl of rage, fueled by his own abandonment issues and the sense of betrayal by someone who should definitely know better, Leorio grabs the table and lifts, sending all of their meals flying and both Kurapika and Pariston scooting back. Ging stays seated right where he is, across from Leorio, not a care in the world as the table turns over and comes smacking down right on the top of his head. The table crashes down to the floor and Ging topples over, Leorio's rice and beans splattered all over his ratty white trucker cap.   
  
Silence reigns, punctuated only by Leorio's panting, but then there's a clapping sound from somewhere, joined by another and another, until it seems like the whole damn cafeteria is applauding. Leorio glances around, face burning all the way from ears to neck, and to his surprise, even Kurapika is sitting there clapping lightly, an expression of genuine satisfaction and pride on his face.   
  
If it means seeing that face all the time, Leorio will gladly follow Shit Dad around and hit him with increasingly painful objects for the rest of his life.   
  
As the applause dies down, though, reality comes crashing down harder than that table. Leorio just assaulted a rich asshole _inside_  the court building. He's so going to jail.   
  
"Shit," he mutters, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't mean... fuck, I'm in so much trouble, shit, I—"   
  
"It's okay," Ging says, and a cheesy mess of beans drops off the brim of his cap as he gets to his feet. "I'm not bothered at all by that accident that just happened, so you're fine."   
  
Leorio blinks, mouth agape and his entire body frozen. "Uh, yeah. Accident. Yes, it was. Thanks for... understanding, I guess. I still say you're a shitty dad, but, um. Yeah, I'm gonna stop talking right now." He turns to the kitchen staff standing in a group near the register. "I'm really sorry for the mess; I'll help clean it up and pay for it and, uh, whatever you need, okay?"   
  
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he looks over to see Pariston looking up at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Oh, no, Leorio, I don't think that will be necessary. You see, I work in the same company as Ging, I make just as much, and I would be honored to handle this situation."    
  
Fishing in his jacket (and nearly blinding Leorio in the process), he produces a crocodile leather wallet with a glittering P bedazzling it. Leorio's no appraiser, but from what he can tell, those diamonds look real, and the large-denomination bills he's pulling out and fanning wide are definitely real. "The staff here works hard, and of course we hate to inconvenience them, but hopefully this little token of our appreciation should be enough to soothe over any sore spots."   
  
He goes down the line of staff, handing cash out like a rich grandpa at Christmas, then beckons to Leorio and Kurapika when he finishes. "Come along, you two; I'd love to treat my new friends to whatever they'd like from the menu here to replace those old dishes."   
  
Ging, still dripping Leorio's poverty meal, tilts his head, sending another glop to the floor. "Two? What about me, Pariston?"   
  
Pariston's smile gets impossibly smarmy and wicked. "Really, dear? After you just finished telling us about all your zeroes? Don't be tacky."   



	5. So When Do We Get to Witness the Badgers?

As one of those greedy, greedy bisexuals, Leorio swings both ways on a multitude of things. He's attracted to cuties of all genders, there's not a color in the rainbow he won't at least try wearing as an accent, and despite his early childhood being steeped in church traditions, he's quite firmly agnostic. That said, the way this trial is plodding along is proof that either there is no god, or he's a great big bearded butthole who enjoys watching his creations suffer.  
  
The defendant is named Illuminati Goldbrick or something, and he's on trial for attempted murder. Miss Gothic Lawyerlita is painting a pretty nasty picture here: this guy is the eldest brother of a fucked-up rich family, and is fixated on his baby brother.   
  
All the kids are homeschooled to keep them from hearing outside opinions, and as they get more indoctrinated, they take on extra responsibilities, such as "training" their younger siblings. Number One Son is basically in charge of all the kids, decides everything from their privileges down to their diets.   
  
The kid in question wants to get away from his family's brainwashing but can't just run for it; his younger sister is dependent on their family for some expensive medications, and the older brother has threatened to withhold them if the kid splits.   
  
A year ago, at age 13, Not-Shit Son and a secret friend the same age broke the sister out and stole her meds, and they all made a run for the friend's place on Whale Island, hoping they could drop off the radar. Shit Son tracked their cell phones and found them in Yorknew, the friend got between them and said he wouldn’t let them be taken back, so Shit Son went off. A grown-ass man who's an expert in several martial arts beat the shit out of a barely-teenage kid for daring to take a stand against his friend’s abuser, and nearly killed him.   
  
Leorio doesn't have the stomach or the heart to listen to any more of this. He's gotta get out; screw the judge, screw everyone, he'll take jail time. God, he hasn't smoked in months, but he needs a fucking cigarette just thinking about—   
  
Wait. This is the jacket Leorio used to wear all the time for late-night smoke breaks. There's a little zipper pocket on the left sleeve, and maybe...   
  
Leorio almost lets out a shout of triumph when he pulls out an ancient pack, flips it open, and finds his lucky last cigarette and a lighter waiting for him like some kind of divine providence. This is his ticket out: Judge Nutella can't overlook someone smoking in court. Shaking fingers stick the cigarette between his lips, and he fumbles with the lighter, flicking it once, twice, three times before he gets a flame and draws it in towards the tip of his—   
  
And just like that, his lighter's gone from his hand, leaving him blinking like an idiot, checking at his feet. He didn't drop it, so what the hell happened? A glance to his right shows a bunch of jurors doing their civic duty and paying attention, whereas to his left there's Kurapika, somehow simultaneously shooting him a glare and a smug little smirk. One hand opens slightly to reveal... Leorio's. Fucking. Lighter.   
  
Suppressing a squawk of rage, Leorio begins reaching for his property, then thinks better of it. The little asshole snatched it right out of his hand; there's no way Leorio can be fast enough to get it back. Like hell is Mama Paladinight's least favorite son backing down, though.   
  
Slowly, nonchalantly if not for the death glare he's leveling right at Goody Twink Shoes, Leorio brings a hand up to flip the cigarette in his mouth around. Grasping with thumb and forefinger at the point where the filter ends and the tobacco begins, he snaps it off, sending a little spray of brown bits to the floor, joined shortly by the fiberglass. Making murderously intense eye contact, Leorio works his lips like a horse to bring the cigarette into his mouth, and begins chewing.   
  
It tastes fucking awful, but he finishes the whole thing and swallows it, because Leorio Paladinight is no quitter, especially when he has a point to prove to an unfairly cute blonde with a stupid-sexy look of surprise and exasperation on their face.   


* * *

  
  
Sneaky McFuckstick is, much to Leorio's chagrin, a very good lawyer. Over the past few minutes, he's managed to take the story from the prosecution and spin it into a tale of an older brother given too much responsibility, struggling to be the caretaker his parents are too busy or unwilling to be. In his version of the events, there's a kidnapping, then a confrontation where his client pleads with his brothers (did Leorio remember wrong about there being a sister?) to come home. He paints this kid as an outsider, a delinquent spouting death threats and flashing a weapon, so of course the guy had to disable someone who was that dangerous; who knows what he would have done with their backs turned?   
  
It's oddly compelling, and now Leorio is confused as to who's actually right. Maybe he should stick around to see? It's kind of an interesting case, and he still hasn't figured out Sassy Sexpot's pronouns. Really, how bad could it be?   
  
"The People may call their first witness."   
  
"Thank you, Your Honor," says Cutesy Giant Woman. "The People call Killua Zoldyck to the stand."   
  
Someone in a suit opens the courtroom doors, and in walks a kid who looks and walks like a fluffy white cat who's had his tail stepped on too many times. There's a tension in his deliberate slouch, that dismissive gaze is sweeping over everyone to catalogue threats, and the hands shoved into his shorts' pockets are definitely balled into fists. When his eyes pass over his big brother, there's a stutter in his step before he averts his eyes and keeps walking to the line next to the jury box. His right hand comes out of his pocket only reluctantly when instructed, and Leorio would bet money his palm has fingernail marks.   
  
Beans, holding up his own right hand, runs through the famous words: "Do you solemnly state that the testimony you are about to give in the case now pending before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"   
  
Kitty Kid nods. "There's no God, but yeah, I do."   
  
He puts up a pretty brave front during the testimony, but he's got obvious tells for anyone who knows how to look. He peppers _fuck_  and its variants into his speech liberally to disguise his hesitation, he glosses over key moments and has to be guided back and pressed for detail, and he does not once meet his brother's fish-eyed stare. This kid keeps flashing out _TRAUMA_  letter by letter like one of those old-fashioned neon casino signs.   
  
"Killua, please," Frisky is saying, her tone gentle but firm as she tries to wrestle more information from him. "Can you please tell us what, specifically, Illumi was doing when you returned from the convenience store with the snacks and found your sister unconscious on the ground?"   
  
The kid crosses his arms, looking off into the corner. "I already told you, he was beating the shit out of Gon."   
  
The DA sighs, looking down. "Yes, you told us that, but the jury needs details. I know it's difficult to talk about, but could you please—"   
  
"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Killua snaps, voice high and reedy. "Illumi hit him, and he kept hitting him, and he didn't stop when he broke Gon's nose, or his ribs, or—"   
  
"Objection," snaps Hisoka, suddenly all business. "The witness is not a medical expert and cannot diagnose any alleged injuries."   
  
Bisky is opening her mouth to respond when Killua stands up and screams, "Fuck you, I know what it sounds like when a bone breaks! He's beat me up enough that I know what it _feels_ —"   
  
"Order." The single word echoes through the courtroom, and if Judge Netero looked vaguely threatening when he was talking about contempt of court, he looks absolutely terrifying right now. "Young man, there are rules to follow in this court. If there is an objection, you will wait until I either sustain it or overrule it. If I sustain that objection, you will not answer, and counsel will ask you a different question. Is that understood?"   
  
Killua opens his mouth to protest, but instead shoves his hands in his pockets and sits down. "Whatever."   
  
"The objection is sustained and the testimony after the objection is stricken; the jury may not take it into account." The threatening aura subsides... mostly. "Miss Krueger, if you please."   
  
"Your Honor," she says, "This may be a bit premature, but I believe it would help the witness to remain calm. The People request that the medical report from Yorknew General Hospital for Gon Freecss be admitted as People's Exhibit A. The Defense has a copy."   
  
A nod. "People's A is admitted."   
  
"Killua, I'm holding in my hand a medical report that details injuries on Gon Freecss, including severe bruises and lacerations to the face and torso, a broken nose, and the gravest injury, nine broken ribs and a punctured lung. Does this description match the beating you saw Illumi give Gon?"   
  
Killua swallows hard. "Yeah. He beat him so bad he stopped his goddamn heart."   
  
She gives a nod, taking a deep breath. "Thank you. And did you do anything?"   
  
"I screamed for help,” the kid manages to force out of a pain-husky throat, and a single tear escapes. “Screamed at Illumi to get off of him. I hit Illumi as hard as I could, but he just kept going until some big guys showed up and pulled him off of Gon."   
  
“Thank you, Killua. Your testimony here is crucial. Nothing further, Your Honor."   
  
The judge nods as well. "Any cross-examination?"   
  
"Thank you, Your Honor." Redrum the Horror Clown strides up closer to the witness. "Did you perform CPR on your friend?"   
  
The kid glares at him, pain channeled efficiently into anger. "Of course. His heart wasn't beating."   
  
"And you believe that your brother Illumi caused severe enough injuries to put him in that state?"   
  
Killua scoffs. "Duh. What the fuck else could it be?"   
  
Sneaky the Piss Wizard taps his lips with one claw, posture shifting to one of consideration. "Would you say you and Gon are good friends?"   
  
"Not just good friends, _best_  friends."   
  
"How lovely. And _just_  best friends?"   
  
Ms. Bustle bristles. "Objection, absolutely irrelevant and out of line."   
  
"Withdrawn," Shitsucka singsongs, waving a hand in the air. "Were you aware that Gon has a heart condition that gives him increased strength during times of heightened stress but can also send him into sudden cardiac arrest?"   
  
Killua stiffens, eyes going wide in panic. "He what? No, he's never had anything like that."   
  
Hisoka holds up a paper: "Your Honor, requesting to admit this report as Defense Exhibit A: lab results and a physician's analysis diagnosing patient Gon Freecss with Banner Syndrome, the condition I just described to the witness. The People, of course, do have a copy."   
  
Judge Netero gives another nod. "Defense A admitted."   
  
"So, Killua, dear, you didn't know about Gon's condition?"   
  
"No."   
  
"Would it be safe to say then, as his best friend, that if you didn't know, there would be no logical way your brother could have known either?"   
  
"I… maybe?” The kid crosses his arms. “I don’t fucking know, okay?"   
  
"So then, to sum it up, Gon's heart stopping was unforeseeable, and you can't be absolutely certain that any of those broken ribs were actually caused by your brother and not by you, given that CPR often breaks ribs?"   
  
There's a long pause, a shuddering breath, and the brave façade shatters, leaving behind a little kid who finally shows the weight of trauma that would stagger an adult. "I heard them break," Killua whispers, tears trickling down his cheeks.   
  
"I believe you, honey," Hisoka croons, suddenly placating, "But are you sure of when you heard those sounds? Allow me to rephrase: is it possible that your mind is reimagining things to blame Illumi because you don't want to accept having broken your friend's ribs yourself while performing CPR?"   
  
Killua shudders, hugging himself tight and staring downwards. "Maybe?"   
  
Hisoka smiles. "Thank you, sweetheart. Nothing further."   


* * *

  
  
The sister has the same black hair as Fisheyes, and she's even more timid stepping into the court than her brother, with one notable exception: while she startles and quakes at practically every noise and new person, the look she levels at the defendant is one of pure cold-burning fury, not a trace of fear.   
  
She takes the oath and goes up to the stand, and guided along by the DA, starts to tell the story from earlier on, when her brother Fluffy the Chaotic Good Cat went to grab snacks, and her other brother Nietzsche's Abyss Gazer showed up.   
  
"And what did Gon do after Illumi said he was going to take you and Killua away by force if necessary?"   
  
The little girl closes her eyes and takes a breath. "Illumi got into a fighting stance when he said that, so Gon stepped in front of me with his fishing pole, and said, 'I'll die before I let you take them back and hurt them again.'"   
  
"Were you afraid?"   
  
"Yes," she says, voice trembling but full of conviction. "I was scared for myself, and Killua, and especially Gon, because Illumi has black belts in a lot of styles of martial arts, and he's told me before he can easily kill people with just his hands."   
  
Fluffbiscuit holds up a document. "Will Counsel stipulate per People v. Saitama and our conversation at sidebar this afternoon that under Yorknew state law, an unarmed person with a black belt in martial arts is considered to possess a deadly weapon?"   
  
Shit Clown waves an idle hand. "So stipulated."   
  
"Stipulation accepted into the record," chimes the judge.   
  
Muffin nods. "Thank you, Your Honor. Then what happened, Alluka?"   
  
"Illumi attacked him," Alluka chokes out, sniffling. "He was so fast that Gon couldn't even swing. He dropped his fishing pole when he got knocked down, and Illumi kept kicking him around, picking him up and punching him..." She trails off, scrubbing a hand over her face. "I screamed at Illumi to stop, but he didn't stop, and there was so much blood on the ground, and I... I fainted. When I woke up, two men in judo uniforms were holding Illumi down on the ground; one had black hair and one had red hair and only one arm. His, um, the robot kind of arm? That was on the ground next to him. And Killua was crying and Gon was still on the ground bleeding, but I think he was breathing then. Then the police and the ambulance came, and Illumi went to jail and the three of us went to the hospital."   
  
"Thank you, Alluka," Bisky says. "Nothing further."   
  
The Judge gestures over to the Shit Clown. "Any cross?"   
  
He swaggers up out of his seat and saunters over toward the witness stand. "Good afternoon, little Alucard." It's an odd mistake from a dude who's so precise, but—   
  
"My name is Alluka," she corrects with a glare, crossing her arms.   
  
Sleazebutt Redpants cocks his head to one side. "Oh? Doesn't your birth certificate say Alucard Zoldyck, _son_  of Silva and Kikyo Zol—"   
  
"Mister Moreau." Judge Netero's voice is as deep and dark as thunder, and echoes the rage in Leorio's own heart. "Come before the Court."   
  
Captain Misgender blinks in shock, then gives a smarmy smile as he heads toward the sidebar. "Of course, Your—"   
  
"Not sidebar, Mr. Moreau: I said come. Before. The Court."   
  
Slowly, gingerly, the shitbag in question steps up to the empty space right in front of the judge's bench. Judge Netero's hands come together in a praying position, and the tension in the air increases to crushing levels.   
  
"Hisoka Moreau, this is your first trial in my court, so allow me to make something abundantly clear, on the record, in front of you and all of these jurors: the State of Yorknew will not, and I most certainly _will not_  stand for misgendering or intentionally outing a trans person when you obviously know better.   
  
"I know that this was your intention because you could have brought this up at any point in time prior to this trial, and because in order to actually use the birth certificate you are referencing as evidence, you would have had to provide a copy in the discovery process. When you presented that, I would have asked you to explain its relevance, and given your abuse of it today, you would rightfully have been prohibited from doing so.   
  
"You are one 'slip-up' from an official sanction on these grounds, so tread carefully. If this young _woman_  says her name is Alluka, then _she_  is Alluka. Is this absolutely clear?"   
  
The weasel smiles with no hint of actual contrition. "Crystal clear, Your Honor. Apologies to the Court."   
  
"And?" Judge Netero inclines his head toward the witness stand.   
  
Shifty yellow eyes dart back and forth, then settle on Alluka (because despite Leorio's fondness for nicknames, he's never going to call her anything but Alluka ever again). "...And to young _Miss_  Zoldyck. It won't happen again, darling."   
  
Arms still crossed, Alluka nods, but says nothing.   
  
Again the menacing aura permeating the courtroom disappears fast enough to give Leorio whiplash. The judge is back to being Judge Noodleslurp, the half-senile and perpetually cheerful caricature you'd see in cartoons, and he spreads his hands wide. "Well then! I'm so glad we won't have any more issues with that, and I'm certain all my jurors will be mature enough to treat this topic with respect as well. Counsel, second time's the charm?"   
  
Smoothing down his suit, Stink Goblin Esquire smiles, instantly back in his greasy groove. "So, Miss Zoldyck, you said that you fainted during the altercation between between your brother and Gon?"   
  
Alluka nods, wary. "Yes, I did."   
  
"And did you hear any unusual sounds before then?"   
  
She stills, folded arms shifting to hugging herself. "It sounded like when Illumi beats someone up."   
  
Hisoka tilts his head. "So then, just the usual sounds of punching and kicking and such?"   
  
"I... yes? They're the sounds when Illumi beats someone up."   
  
"Thank you, sweetheart. And now directing your attention back to—"   
  
The DA stands to her full height and grinds a fist into her palm, and the arms of her blazer bulge enough that Leorio fears for the seams... and is suddenly suffering from a dry mouth. "The People would like to note that in light of Defense Counsel's continued use of patronizing terms in addressing the witnesses, the People will now be demeaning and objectifying Defense Counsel whenever we so desire."   
  
Fuckles the Magician's eyes gleam, and his hips snap forward; Leorio can practically hear a _schwing_. At least the man has good taste? "Why, Ms. Krueger, I would be perfectly fine with accommodating your _every desire_."   
  
One on-point eyebrow rises, and her lower lip recedes just slightly, as though it's being subtly bitten, but a second later the Pastel Goth Dominatrix is back in total control. "Glad to hear it, sweetheart," she says, waving a dismissive hand and turning away from her new slave. "First thing: no more pet names for the witnesses. They're children and you sound really creepy."   
  
With a flourishing bow, Subby Bottoms Ass Attorney acquiesces. "As you wish, Counsel." The last word is spoken with the breathless reverence usually reserved for _Mistress_.   
  
Leorio shoots a look over at the judge, wondering whether he's going to be breaking up this porno opening before or after it devolves into a lawyer getting pegged over the table on the record. From the amusement on the old man's face, though, it looks like they're going to be getting a front-row view of Shit Clown Gets the Strap 2: Legal Boogaloo.   
  
To his credit, though, said Shit Clown recovers his line of questioning pretty much right away. "As I was saying, Miss Zoldyck, I want to take you back to earlier, when you say Gon said something to your brother. What was it again?"   
  
Alluka steels herself. "He said, 'I'll die before I let you take them back and hurt them again.'"   
  
"Are you certain he said, 'I'll die,' and not, 'You'll die'?"   
  
She nods. "I'm sure."   
  
"Just a single word's difference, and it all happened so fast—"   
  
"Objection," Bisky snaps, "Asked and answered."   
  
Judge Nubblebubs gives a nod. "Sustained. Her answer is her answer, Counsel; move on to your next question."   
  
Palette-swapped Joker's face turns sour for a moment, then he waves a hand as he flounces back to his seat. "Nothing further, Your Honor."   
  
"Any re-direct?"   
  
Beefcake Biscuit stands. "Just very briefly, Your Honor. Alluka, when you're talking about the sounds when Illumi beats someone up, could you describe some of those sounds in detail?"   
  
Alluka's eyes get a faraway look. "The sounds of punching and kicking, mostly. When he dislocates someone's joint, it sounds like a pop. Broken bones sound like snapping. A broken nose makes a crunch. I've heard him beat people up a lot, especially Killua."   
  
"And could you tell us which of those sounds you heard before you fainted?"   
  
"Punches and kicks, a snap, then I fainted."   
  
"Thank you, Alluka. Nothing further, Your Honor."   
  
"Re-cross?"   
  
"No, Your Honor."   
  
"The witness is excused; please step down, Miss Zoldyck."   
  
As before, there's a shuffle as she leaves and the lawyers call another witness up—this time, the victim. Before the little green-haired forest child makes it up to the stand, though, his eyes settle on the jury box and he stops dead, mouth agape. A grin spreads across his face, and he yells out, "Dad!"   
  
Every head in the courtroom turns to stare directly at the target of the kid's exclamation, who is currently trying to slouch _through_  his seat. With a wan smile, Ging lifts a hand to give a flimsy little half-wave. "Oh hey, uh... Gon."   
  
Leorio may not be the smartest man in the world, but seeing just how stupid Garbage Lord looks right now, he feels like he could apply for certification as a goddamn genius. How exactly do you not realize you're on a jury in a case involving your own son?   
  
"The Court will be in recess until... actually, we'll call it a day. Please be back here at ten AM sharp tomorrow. As before, do not discuss the case with anyone, including each other. Do not look up information regarding the case, and do not speak with anyone involved in this case—the defendant, the lawyers, the witnesses, or any of my staff except the bailiff." Judge Ruffalo's pleasant facade drops just a touch. "Oh, and Juror number 11, if you would please stay behind? I think we need to have a conversation." 


	6. All's Well That Ends With Me Getting Your Number

"If I ever meet that man again, I'm going to do more than just drop a table on him; I'm gonna grow another two arms like the big dude from Fatal Battle and beat his ass with the whole thing until the legs snap off... and then go after him with the legs." Leorio may be under orders not to discuss the case, but now that the landslide winner of World's Shittiest Dad is officially off the jury, he's fair game by Leorio's reckoning. And by god, is he glad, because he _needs_  to roast the fucker. Thankfully, Kurapika is willing to listen, and even toss a little fuel on the fire when it starts dying down.   
  
"I'd like to force him to eat that filthy hat of his," Kurapika hisses, eyes burning with a quiet but barely-contained rage; in the sunset's glow, as they walk back to the metro station, they seem almost red.   
  
Leorio lifts a cautionary finger. "Careful what you wish for. I bet he's shat in that thing at least once when he was too lazy to find a bush."   
  
There's a stutter in the footsteps that up until now have been matching Leorio's own steps, which he's made purposely shorter to be considerate of his companion (and totally not out of wanting to prolong this oddly amicable moment between them). He looks to the side, and Kurapika has stopped short, eyes wide. Just as Leorio starts to ask if he's all right, though, a giggle slips out of a mouth quickly covered, but not so quickly that Leorio fails to see the smile beginning to bloom. A second or two of that glorious melody, and the sound swells further, Kurapika's hands dropping to his sides as pure heaven rings out.   
  
Bathed in pinks and reds, carefree and laughing, truly _laughing_ , Kurapika is a vision, and it's all Leorio can do to halt the hand that has risen halfway to reach up and cup their cheek. This is enough, he tells himself, liar that he is; coward that he is, he can't bring himself to make the first move.   
  
When Kurapika's laughter subsides, they duck their head, coy composure returning despite a touch of red that isn't the sunset dusting their cheeks. "You're probably not wrong, you know."   
  
Leorio feels the crack in his voice just before it escapes, and coughs into his fist to hide it. "Wow, uh, can I get that in writing?"   
  
That devious little smile is back, and once again Kurapika holds the upper hand, as always. "Not a chance." With that, he starts walking again, and Leorio remains mesmerized for long enough that he has to use his longest strides to his full advantage, only catching up as they reach the metro. He fumbles for more banter as they walk toward the train, a way to keep their momentum going, but comes up blank. Silence settles between them, a silence that might be called companionable if it weren't fraught with tension that almost certainly has something to do with their proximity. This time, though, Kurapika is the one to break it.   
  
"It's tragic that those three children have to go through this. Not just the prior abuse or this incident, but having to get up in court in front of strangers and testify about it." Their eyes are distant, clouded over with pain even as the city whips by outside the windows of their elevated car. Kurapika had said their family had been murdered by a gang; the question burns at the back of Leorio's throat, unsure whether to risk flight into the air.   
  
"Did... Did you have to? Testify, I mean," he clarifies at Kurapika's shocked glance.   
  
Kurapika's lower lip disappears, a small readjustment in their grip on the pole. "No," comes the reply after far too long for comfort. "I wasn't at home when it happened, but I was there for the trial. I forced them to let me see it all, every piece of evidence the jury saw. It would have been unbearable at any age; at fifteen... it left me hollowed out in the end. They all got life in prison, then their transport crashed en route. The official story is that they burned to death in the wreckage, but the lead investigator warned me that..." They take a deep breath, free hand balling into a fist. "There were no remains, and the fire wouldn't have gotten hot enough to incinerate bone. They're still out there."   
  
Leorio swallows hard against the lump in his throat. "I'm so fucking sorry." As Kurapika prepares to respond, he holds up a hand. "No, no, you're about to say it wasn't my fault, and I know that; that's not what I mean. I mean, I wish you didn't have to go through that. I wish you didn't suffer like that. I hope you had someone to turn to when it all got to be too much, someone to comfort and support you. This case doesn't even come close to what you went through, and god knows I'd adopt all three of those kids if I were allowed. Doesn't matter that I'm only a few years older and broke as shit; I'd still do my damnedest to make up for all the affection they didn't get at home before."   
  
There's a pause, a moment of consideration, and then Kurapika's reply is uncharacteristically soft. "I think you'd be a wonderful father, Leorio."     
  
Accustomed as he is to their good-natured bickering, Leorio's response is a reflexive, "Oh fuck off, I already know I'd be shit at it, you don't need to rub it—" He jerks to a halt, head spinning as he processes what he actually heard. "Wait, what?"   
  
Kurapika stops, turning back to face Leorio as the doors open, and their blonde hair lit up by the last of the sunset is too gorgeous a sight for words. "I said I think you'd be a wonderful father."   
  
So caught up in replaying those words is Leorio, that after Kurapika hops off the metro, he misses his own stop by two whole stations and has to backtrack.   


* * *

  
  
The rest of the trial frankly passes in a blur.   
  
Paristown Hiltshaft, predictably, manufactures some sort of excuse to get out of jury duty now that his schoolyard crush isn't hanging around. That means Leorio is well and truly the official last juror, not just an alternate, so he's locked in... and somehow, he doesn't find himself minding that fact. He's getting closer to Kurapika during their breaks, and it seems somewhere along the way he actually got invested in making sure these kids get some justice for the hell Fisheyes has put them through.   
  
Gon testifies about his experience, and it goes pretty much as expected. The two judo guys take the stand (and the mean-looking one cries more in righteous anger than all the kids did put together for the whole trial), there's some doctor testifying about Gon's condition for the defense, there are closing arguments. It all boils down to either self-defense or assault with a deadly weapon, and to determine which it is, there are plenty of legal definitions that the jurors have to keep track of during the deliberations. Thankfully, they've got them written out in their printed jury instructions— all fifty trillion pages of them. Judge Nutterbutter reads every word of the instructions to them on the record, too, which means Leorio gets more of a legal education than he's ever wanted.   
  
When they finally get back to the jury room, the foreperson (a round little lady with a soft, musical voice; Melody really couldn't have picked a better name for herself) takes an initial vote, and there's only one holdout. The dude— Tonga or Tumblr or something— looks like a human hemorrhoid, and has a personality to match. He says he doesn't feel right coming back without at least discussing the case for a few hours, even though he totally agrees on the guilty verdict. And so, despite everything, they sit and go over every damn detail of the case from the beginning.   
  
If there's one benefit to this farcical bullshit parade, it's that Leorio gets to sit back and watch Kurapika shut down every one of this chucklefuck's attempts to play devil's advocate with tactical precision, growing visibly more annoyed with each new talking point. Leorio knows a few things about himself with absolute certainty, and one of them is this: cute is good; cute and intelligent is a plus; and cute, intelligent, and angry gets just about anyone a standing invitation to every party hosted in Leorio's pants.   
  
Perhaps one day, Kurapika might even find out about said invitation... but that would require Leorio not to be such a chickenshit when it comes to asking out people he's attracted to in more than just a superficial way.   
  
In the end, it takes them until almost the end of the day to get Trumpa to feel "comfortable" with returning the verdict, but they do it. They ring the buzzer to let the bailiff know they're ready, they go out, and as Melody reads out that _Guilty_ , Leorio actually feels a sense of pride and accomplishment. The kids in the audience burst into tears of relief, embraced by an assortment of family and friends who thankfully don't look anything like Killua or Alluka.   
  
And just like that, it's over.   
  
They're done with their jury duty. They can go home, back to their lives, back to being part of different worlds. Back to not knowing each other.   
  
Leorio can't let that happen with Kurapika.   
  
As jurors, they have to turn in all the notes that they took during the trial, and it takes Leorio a solid thirty seconds to convince the deputy (a guy with dark glasses on indoors and a name like Mushroom, so he wasn’t a total hardass) to let him keep the little slip of paper he scribbled his number on and tore out of the notebook. Leorio rushes out the courtroom door, only to find the elevator with Kurapika inside closing right in his face. Cursing and begging every damn deity he can think of at the same time, he launches himself down the nearby stairs three at a time, sending lawyers and files flying off to the sides as he races the elevator to the bottom.   
  
Leorio bursts out of the courthouse, searching desperately for a sign of Kurapika, but there's nothing. His hands ball into fists, crinkling the paper, and he lets out a heartfelt _fuck_  as he realizes he has no way to know if he'll ever see them again. It's all he can do just to walk up to one of the columns and rest his bowed head against it, mumbling brokenhearted expletives.   
  
"You're that upset that you didn't get out of jury duty after all?" The familiar lilting voice is tinged with amusement, and when Leorio whirls around, Kurapika is doing that halfway-smile that drives him mad. "And here I thought you'd overcome all that."   
  
"No!" Leorio blurts, then cringes. "I mean, uh, I'm actually glad I stayed on after all. I just, um..." He pauses, hands twitching, and the paper shifts. He thrusts it out right into Kurapika's face, almost hitting him right in the nose. "I wanted to give you this!"   
  
Eyes wide and more than a little crossed from the proximity of Leorio's hand, Kurapika blinks twice, then reaches up to take the paper. They examine it, flip it, flip it again, brow crinkling. "Whatever this was, it's currently... damp and illegible, to be generous."   
  
There's a moment of stunned silence, and Leorio looks in horror at his own hand. Sure enough, his palm is a mess of sweat and ink, and the paper can't be any better. "Shit."   
  
"What was it?"   
  
Leorio stiffens. "Nothing! Nothing at all, just a... well, I mean, since we live kind of close, I thought maybe you'd, uh..." He trails off, blushing like a kid who's just discovered porn. "Nothing. It was stupid."   
  
Kurapika lets out a long-suffering sigh, putting their hand out. "Give me your phone."   
  
Dumbfounded, Leorio fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over without a word.   
  
It's maybe twenty seconds of silence as Kurapika fiddles with something, then hands it back. "You really should give it a lock code that isn't all ones, by the way."   
  
Leorio's eyebrows rise to his hairline, then furrow as he looks down. "I'm glad you gave me your number, but what's this little squiggle next to your name supposed to be?"   
  
A flush blooms on Kurapika's cheeks, running across their nose and down their neck. "That symbol is called a tilde, and I was made to believe that it’s used to denote... flirtation." They look off to the side and brush a lock of hair behind their ear, revealing a dangling ruby earring.   
  
Leorio stares, mouth agape, until he realizes he should say something. "Uh, okay! Yeah, I'm... I'd really... I'm glad, cause... well, uh yeah, that's good. So maybe we could go out for... coffee, or dinner, or a drink?"   
  
"Or all of the above." Kurapika looks back up at him, and their cocky little smirk is already back in full force. This little fucker is deadly, and Leorio is 150% ready to die. Preferably only a little death, but he's not terribly picky.   
  
"Sounds good." Swallowing hard, Leorio nods to the point of awkwardness. "Oh, and just... just for reference. I don't think I know what pronouns you use?"   
  
Kurapika's mouth opens, then closes, mischief dancing in those eyes. "How about this: I'll tell you when you call me up." With that, they saunter away, glancing back at poor, smitten Leorio standing on the courthouse steps.   
  
It takes a good two minutes at least for Leorio to process the series of events that just occurred; when he does, though, a stupidly big grin spreads across his face, and he brings a contact up on his phone. Pressing dial, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits just one and a half rings. "Guess who?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it!
> 
> Any and all comments, even the smallest thing, will be treasured. 
> 
> I'd like to thank Shally, Glittercracker, BugTongue, and everyone else who helped organize this event. 
> 
> And now, go check out and leave your love on the incredible art made for this:
> 
> By Tiburme:  
> https://fartoomanycrushes.tumblr.com/post/185778524166/tiburme-this-is-the-illustration-i-did-for
> 
> By Coldergeist:  
> https://fartoomanycrushes.tumblr.com/post/185817159631/coldergeist-i-had-a-lot-of-fun-drawing-for


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